


it's warm, this skin i'm living in

by callunavulgari



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 02:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11175549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: When he is thirty-seven years old, John Sheppard thinks about the universe.Slowly - ever so slowly - beneath a layer of orange fleece, the shape of the universe blooms across Rodney McKay’s chest. To Rodney, it feels like an itch. By the time he gets home and notices, he isn’t thinking about the connection at all.





	it's warm, this skin i'm living in

**Author's Note:**

> Was going through my fic ideas tag on tumblr and found [this little gem](http://callunavulgari.tumblr.com/post/157029806035/tinybro-a-random-soulmate-au-idea-i-had-where), which if you don't feel like opening the link and looking at the pictures basically boils down to a person having a mark on their arm to represent their soulmate. As the soulmate grows, the mark grows to incorporate all the things that represent that person. Thought it would be a fun little thing to do, and it was definitely supposed to be a lot longer, up until I forgot about it for two weeks. 
> 
> Title is from [We Sink by Of Monsters and Men.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFRywBkXgdA)

Rodney’s mark started out small, elegant slashes of color splashed across the meatiest part of his bicep. At the time, Rodney was six years old and didn’t much care for the idea of soulmates. There were cooler things than a bunch of blue paint on his arm, like black holes and the crowded, complicated mess of wiring inside his dad’s alarm clock.  
  
He’s going on nine when his mark changes, the familiar blues and greens and whites of sea and foam now a backdrop for the gleaming ferris wheel laid over top the waves, black lines on cool colors. He stares at it, lips pursed, and can’t for the life of him decide if he actually likes the new addition.  
  
When he’s thirteen the dark silhouette of a sleek, dangerous looking airplane is added to the mess. The plane itself is larger than the waves, larger than the ferris wheel, so long that the tip of it’s pointed nose touches the inside of his elbow. He grimaces at it, touching the curve of its broad back with one finger.  
  
It takes an hour of hunting through books at the library before he recognizes the shape of the SR-71 “Blackbird.”  
  
By the time Rodney’s fifteen, two more things have been added - a horse made out of shadows and edges, indistinct black smoke licking up the insides of his forearms and the mandelbrot set that sits neatly underneath it, an expanse of beautiful lines and inky dark that go clear down to his wrist.  
  
At fifteen years old, Rodney is significantly more interested in his soulmate than he was when he was six years old. He’s moved to America and is the top of his class at one of the most prestigious colleges in North America. He doesn’t like the majority of his peers and is beginning to realize that it’s entirely possible that he just doesn’t like people in general. He’s prickly, bad-tempered, and his ego has swelled to be the size of a small city.  
  
Whoever his soulmate is, she apparently likes the ocean, ferris wheels, planes, horses, and math. Rodney, who enjoys exactly one of those things, doesn’t have very high hopes.   
  
  
  
John’s mark did not start small. His mother used to tell the story to him when he was younger, how one day there was nothing and the next day his entire arm was crowded with ever-changing and evolving pictures. One day there would be a spotted elephant soaring above the moon and the next the elephant would be gone, replaced by candies and sparking wires and something that may or may not have been the curve of someone’s wrist.  
  
When John was young, his mark never stayed the same. Every day it would be different, his soulmates interests seemingly coming and going, never sticking. It made for a cool story, sure, kids in his class clustered around his desk and watching the pictures on his skin change and change and change.  
  
It takes the better part of a decade for something to stick, and by then, John is so used to it changing that it takes him a week to notice that the creeping stairway of black and white piano keys going up the inside of his wrist haven’t actually changed with the rest of it.  
  
He watches the piano keys for a month, wondering when they’re going to get wiped clean. It’s a game, at first. Almost. He makes bets with himself on how long the keys are going to stay there, on what else will replace them when they go.  
  
It takes years for something to change, but one day, John wakes up and the piano keys are cracked. In some spots they’re crumbling entirely, giving way to a fine black mist. He stares at them too long, a sick feeling growing in his stomach.  
  
The game isn’t funny after that.  
  
He watches his arm with a wary eye, expecting the piano keys to crumble away the way that the rest of the images have come and gone over the years. But the image stubbornly stays put in all its fractured, broken glory.  
  
It takes another year for something else to stick around. The constant changing has let up a bit over the years, some images lasting for days at a time before they fade, so like the piano keys, John doesn’t notice the sleek gray cat curled around the pointy end of his elbow until it's been there for almost a week.  
  
He waits for it to change, stealing glances at it between dropping clothes in the washer or twiddling his pencil or taking a bite of stew. Eventually, he stops watching.  
  
So his soulmate likes cats and seems to have a dysfunctional relationship with pianos. Cool. John could definitely work with that, even if he is more of a dog person.  
  
Halfway through his freshmen year at MIT the simulated decay path of a Higgs Boson particle appears over the ball of his shoulder, the clean sweeping lines and curves neatly overwriting everything that had been in the near vicinity the day before. It’s huge, bigger than anything that’s ever shown up on John, haloing the shoulder joint and dipping down further to wrap around his bicep.  
  
He watches this one too, but it’s half-hearted at best. He’s got a feeling that this one is going to be sticking around.  
  
The next morning, he has a tiny steaming mug full of coffee between the second and third joint along the side of his middle finger. John laughs so hard that he ends up falling out of bed.  
  
  
  
When he is thirty-seven years old, John Sheppard thinks about the universe.  
  
Slowly - ever so slowly - beneath a layer of orange fleece, the shape of the universe blooms across Rodney McKay’s chest. To Rodney, it feels like an itch. By the time he gets home and notices, he isn’t thinking about the connection at all.  
  
He touches a hand to it absentmindedly, and thinks it’s a shame that his soulmate will never know where he’s going.  
  
A week later, the glyph representing Atlantis appears over both of their hearts.  
  
  
  
Rodney is thirty-nine years old when he cups his hand around the smoky gray cat curled around John Sheppard’s elbow, and blinks. He drags his hand upwards, quietly marveling at the gooseflesh that rises in his wake, and covers the Higgs Boson particle with his palm.  
  
He licks his lips and laughs, nervously.  
  
John, sprawled naked between Rodney’s spread thighs, raises an eyebrow. Asks, “Problem?”  
  
Rodney touches the piano keys. The mug of coffee. The _glyph_.  
  
“I’m an idiot,” he says, and takes off his shirt.  
  
Rodney reaches out and carefully drags John’s hand up to touch the clean lines mapping the Milky Way across his chest. He lets go, leaving it splayed there. The edge of John’s thumb is just barely grazing the glyph of Atlantis.  
  
John’s eyes are wide. Hesitantly, he touches the blackbird.  
  
“Holy shit,” he says.  
  
“Holy shit,” Rodney agrees, and kisses him.


End file.
